


Plantin' A Seed

by RickylLover



Series: Growin' Affection [2]
Category: The Walking Dead, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comforting Rick, Feelings, Hurt Daryl, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Pea farmer Rick, Prison setting, Rick's POV, Sassy Daryl, Unintentional Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickylLover/pseuds/RickylLover
Summary: When Rick finds out Daryl is injured he has to confront his feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have several ongoing Rickyl fics I should be working on, but this just came out of nowhere. Hope you enjoy.

     Gardening ain't like what Rick thought it'd be. Like somethin' he could putter at like an old man. Retire. It was back breakin' work. All that tillin'. At least it were a lotta work to feed all of them they got now with the Woodbury folk they took on. And hard work kept his mind from wandering to Daryl. To places it ain't decent ta go leastways.

     Because, if Rick were bein' honest with himself, he thought about Daryl a lot. His quiet laugh. The way he blushes at every compliment. Their easy banter. The way Daryl would stop by to see him first thing when he got back from a run. Teasin',  _Honey, I'm home,_ andsharin' some special thing he brought back for 'em like the stalest Twix bar ever or a piss warm beer.

     Rick lived for those moments. Actually lived in those moments. Not just survived. Connectin' with Daryl like that. It sparked somethin' in Rick he ain't felt in a long time. But, he'd been feelin' it for Daryl since the farm. Okay, between Rick and his peas, he been feelin' it since Daryl come trompin' outta the woods at the quarry.

     And Daryl seemed ta feel somethin', too. What that was were more of a mystery to Rick than his own damn feelings. But, that repartee they got goin'? Ain't no way it was flirtin', though. Ain't no way Daryl badass Dixon would want a man like him. For one, because he were indeed a _man_.

     So Rick just tended his peas and waited. For what he didn't know. A sign? Fuck, the last time he asked for one of those Carl got shot. And he knows, _he knows_ he could not bear the thought of losing Daryl, and whatever it is they have, like that. He just enjoyed what he could with Daryl and took his frustrations out on the dirt. It was peaceful in the garden. Quiet. And nobody bothered him. Most days...

     "Mr. Grimes," one of the new guys tromped up. Damn near steppin' on Rick's peas where they were sproutin' up. Rick don't even know his name. Not that he don't care. Just, too many ta keep track of anymore. "You need to come right away," the guy's voice was shaky and insistent.

     But, these people could insist all they want. It wasn't up to Rick anymore. Nothining was up to Rick anymore. That was the point of steppin' down. That was what the council was for. Rick just wanted some peace with his peas. And lunch with Daryl, who was probably wondering where the fuck he was right now.

     "Whatever it is, take it up with the council," Rick sighed. Forced the shovel inta the ground. Wanted to force that guy inta the ground for disturbin' his peace.

     The guy don't leave, though. Wringin' his hands. "It's Daryl."

      _Daryl_. The name cut through Rick like his spade through dirt. He was dropping his shovel and following before he even registered what he was doing. Peas be damned as he trod over them to get ta Daryl.

     "What happened?" He must have made his mouth work. Worry pooled in the pit of his stomach and his heart sped up. If only his legs would go as fast as his heart were beating. _Daryl_. Daryl was inside the gate, not on a run. Should be safe. But, these days there's no such thing as safe. And the thought of something happening to _Daryl_...of losing _Daryl_...scared the shit outta Rick more than it should have.

     The new guy kept jabbering as they ran. Apparently the guy had run inta some trouble at the fence. Walker reached in and grabbed him. And Daryl, bein' the man he is jumped in ta end the dead fucker for good. In the struggle the guy had sliced Daryl's thigh with his shiv. Mistaking his leg for the walker.

     "I'm sorry," the guy stopped in his tracks. Took off his cap and everything. Like it wasn't just an apology to a leader, which Rick keeps remindin' them he ain't, for hurting one of his people, but an apology, man ta man, for hurting the one he loves. Like he knew hurting Daryl hurt Rick. More than any cut ever could.

     "He okay?" Rick pushed ahead, never stopping. Ignoring the apology. Because, really he couldn't forgive it. Accident or not. And he just wanted to get ta Daryl. Wherever the fuck he was. If this asshole would just shut up and take him there.

     "He will be," the guy sped up and got in front again. Led the way to C Block door. "If he lets the doc have a look at it." He heaved the door open. "You gotta make him."

     As soon as the door swung open Rick could hear Daryl's screams echoing through the prison. But, they ain't screams of pain. They were screams of indignation. Ta _get the hell away_ and _get yer damn hands off me_. And that made Rick settle. A little. If Daryl still had that much fight in him he was okay.

     Rick pushed through the crowd of gawkers five deep. What that must feel like ta Daryl. All those eyes on him. Cornered like a wounded animal caught in a trap. "Nothin' ta see here, move along," Rick dispersed them. And for once he was grateful they looked at him as a leader, because they actually fucking left. And he was able to make eye contact with Daryl. And that seemed to settle him.

     He was still biting his thumb, but stopped pacin' the floor like he were tryin' ta wear a hole in it. Standing awkwardly to favor his cut leg which he'd tied off with a tube sock he'd probably ripped off the laundry line outside.

     "You okay?" Rick put out his hands to warn Daryl touch was imminent. He don't flinch from Rick. Ever. Even started seekin' out his touch. But, Rick had never seen him so agitated. Weren't goin' to do anything ta risk spookin' him.

     "Would ya believe I's makin' ya lunch 'n cut m'self?" Daryl teased, but his smile was strained. So strained. "Yer late by the way."

     Rick shifted in his sweaty, dirty shirt. "It takes time ta get myself all dolled up for the special occasion," he joined in on the...teasin'? Flirtin'? Whatever the fuck, but he enjoyed it. "Seriously, Daryl, you okay?"

     " 'M fine," Daryl croaked the words out around the thumb in his mouth. "Worst part is now I got 'nother damn hole in m' jeans."

     "And you're wearing tube socks," Rick tried ta make light a things as he moved closer. Closed the gap.

     Daryl stared down at his thigh. And the ugly ass sock. "Fuck me," he cursed at it.

     Rick blushed at the thought of wanting to. Actually fucking wanting to...fuck him. Soft and slow. Skin on skin. Sharin' the same air. But, he shook the thought away. Touched Daryl's bare shoulders poking out of his ripped shirt. Still warm from the heat of the day. And the fray at the fence. Daryl felt right in his hands, which did nothing to rid his mind of his previous thoughts. Fantasies? Made Rick feel a lot of things he couldn't understand. Or wouldn't admit.

     But, right now he had to concentrate on making sure Daryl was okay. And even if Daryl wasn't talking Rick could read his cues. Daryl's breathing was controlled. Too controlled. His face too void of expression. Eyes not meeting Rick's. And his lips stayed silent. Chewin' his thumb ta bleedin'. Which meant he were in a lotta pain. But, the tilt of his head towards Rick said more than any words ever could. Said, _Need_ _ya. Trust ya._

Daryl takes ta touch like a cat ta water. But, he don't shy away from Rick. So all Rick had to do was slide his hands from Daryl's shoulders to the back of his neck to silently say, _I'm here. I've got you_. And if he enjoyed the feel of Daryl's muscles and warm skin under his palms, what of it?

     Daryl fell inta his chest like a lost boy inta his mama. Crumpling inta the embrace as Rick held Daryl close. Hearts boxing one another. It didn't take much to ease Daryl's head inta the crook of his neck. So he could stroke his matted hair. Calming himself just as much as Daryl. "How 'bout ya let me have a look at that leg?"

     Daryl's only answer was going pliant in Rick's arms. Allowing himself to be eased onta the nearest bench. And Daryl kept his cut leg extended out. Like he was offering it up to Rick. Trustin' him with it.

     Rick kept his fingers gentle as he could with them shaking so bad as he pulled the sock dressing free. There was a lot of blood. And the cut looked deep. He didn't need to be a doctor to figure things out. "Gonna need stitches, I think," he whispered his words. Hoping to ease the blow.

     "I think so, too," Hershel came hobbling up. Followed by the new guy. Who was pushing a cart suspiciously long enough ta fit Daryl.

     Daryl tensed like he were gonna fight it when he saw it had straps. "I'll walk," he huffed and his hand shot out to push the gurney away.

     Rick snagged onto Daryl's hand. Laced their fingers together. And it felt like the most natural thing to be holdin' another man's hand, _Daryl's_ hand. He gave a squeeze to reassure Daryl who was still starin' wide eyed at those stupid bindings on the gurney. _I won't let them_. "No straps," Rick's voice was firm. And he cocked his head ta the side like he does when ya shouldn't fuck with him.

     And nobody did. Hershel looked concerned, but seemed to understand. He'd seen the scars before. Staring at their hands together he patted Rick's shoulder. "Just get him sitting on it with his legs out and we can make do to get him to the infirmary." He looked down to Daryl, "We'll go slow enough you won't fall off, okay, son?"

     Daryl stopped chewin' his thumb long enough to sass, "I mus' be dyin' 'f anybody's callin' me son." He don't even have to say his old man never even called him that.

     Rick brought Daryl back to the question. "Is that plan okay?" He stroked the back of Daryl's hand with his thumb. The small of Daryl's back with his other hand. Sayin', _I'm here. I'll be with ya the whole time._

Daryl nodded his consent. It was the slightest dip of his head. Only Rick could ever understand it. "Could do it m'self 'f ya'd jus' get me some whiskey," he huffed. "Wouldn't be the first time." He said it so matter of fact it broke Rick's heart, because he knew it was all from before the world went to shit. He sounded every bit as tough as Rick knew he was. But, he don't let go a Rick's hand. Clung to it. Squeezing against the pain. And maybe, just maybe, for the closeness. The contact with each other.

     Carl come runnin' up. News travels fast. "Oh my God is he...?" And he don't even finish. Couldn't say,  _bit_. But, the tears in his eyes said everything.

     "Like I keep sayin', 'm fine," Daryl protested Hershel's cursory examination with a pout.

     But, Carl looked ta Rick. Because everyone knows Daryl would say he was fine even if his leg was cut clean off. "He's fine," Rick assured his son as much as Daryl as he scrambled with the new guy to get a good grip on Daryl for moving him that didn't involve letting go of his hand. "But, maybe you could go find some whiskey." Lord knows Rick needed a drink.

     Carl had Daryl's feet and managed to get them onta the gurney without causing him ta cuss a blue streak. Or put up a fuss. But, then Daryl would do anything for the kids. "I know where to find some," Carl darted off.

     By now Carol had heard as well. And met them in the infirmary with a staggering array of scissors, scalpels and forceps layed out. "We'll talk about the laundry you owe me later," she tried ta lighten the mood. Patting Daryl's shoulder as he was wheeled under the bright light.

     "Them ugly things?" Daryl sassed. "I's doin' ya a favor." He squinted under the bulb.

     Rick adjusted himself to hover over Daryl. Block the light from his face. And maybe to obscure the view of what Hershel was about ta do to his leg. "I'd definitely consider it a favor," he smirked with Daryl. Like a couple of schoolboys putting one over on the teacher.

     Carol just snorted out a laugh. Patted Daryl's leg. "A girl's gotta have somethin' to keep her warm at night."

     Even in all the commotion Rick noticed her attempt at flirtin' with Daryl. Felt somethin' bubble up inside him at that. Jealousy? But, he took comfort in the fact that Daryl ain't wanted ta hold her hand. 'Course she were the one tendin' ta his leg, so maybe Daryl just ain't wanted ta keep her from that?

     Before Rick could fret himself silly over it Carl was back with whiskey. Quicker than he shoulda been. But, it didn't even register with Rick he should probably have a talk with Carl about the dangers of alcohol. All he could think of was Daryl. _Daryl_ in pain. _Daryl_ squeezing his hand. Trusting _him_. Needing _him_.

     "Fuck," Daryl cried out as hands ripped at his pants. Stripped them off. They hadn't even started the stitching and he was squirmin' and buckin'. Could probably stand the pain. But, this? Shit, this is what the straps were for. The panic. But, Rick felt he could do better. Hold Daryl 'stead a hold him down.

     "Easy," he cooed inta Daryl's ear. Never letting go of his hand. Leanin' in ta make eye contact. "They just need ta get at your leg," he rubbed Daryl's thigh. Over his boxers. Remindin' him he ain't naked. Though, he probably felt just as vulnerable.

     It must have helped, because Daryl stopped fightin'. Turned his attention to the new guy who was left standing there bewildered and holding Daryl's ratty jeans. "Jus' 'cuz they's got 'nother hole in 'em don't mean they's trash," he forced the words out through gritted teeth as Hershel prodded and poked his leg. "They's m' only pair."

     "Would you please take them to be washed and stitched up?" Rick asked the guy. And he seemed relieved to be dismissed.

     When Daryl hissed at the saline debreeding his wound Carl looked horrified. "Stop hurting him," he begged Hershel.

     " 'S just a damn cut, Little Man, I'ma be fine," Daryl ground out the words. Tryin' ta sound like it ain't no big deal. To reassure him. "Go on an' wait outside," he spoke ta Carl, but he don't look away from Rick. Or let go of his hand.

     As Carl slipped out Daryl swiped the whiskey. Pulled the cork out with his teeth. Spittin' it off to the side. All so he didn't have ta let go of Rick. "Least this one'll be straight," he pointed the bottle at Hershel before he chugged. "Ya should see the shit job Merle always done."

     But, Rick had seen it. Back at the farm. Crisscrossing his back and chest and belly. Beating after beating. A few of them scars stitched up like no better than a ripped pair of jeans. How anyone could have that much hate and anger beat inta them and not hate everyone himself Rick don't even know. But, whatever the fuck it was that made Daryl strong made Daryl beautiful. And, damn it, someday Rick was going to tell Daryl that. But, now just don't seem the time.

     Daryl chugged some more and leaned his head forward onta Rick's shoulder. Impervious to the pain. Or used to it. Rick don't know which broke his heart more. But, he knew one thing for sure. He wanted to protect Daryl. Comfort Daryl. Spend the rest of his life making sure he never hurt again. Ever.

     By the time Daryl was halfway through the whiskey Hershel was halfway through the stitches. And Rick was halfway through his last nerve with worry. His back was sore from the odd angle he was leaning to block Daryl's view. His fingers were stiff and so sweaty in Daryl's hand they'd have slipped out if they weren't both so adamant about holding on to each other. But, he wasn't gonna rest until Daryl was patched up and sleeping it off. Preferably in his arms.

     "Here," Daryl passed the whiskey ta Rick. "That purdy little mouth a yers looks dry," he tried to wink, but looked more like he got poked in the eye. "Want me ta wet it fer ya?" He hiccuped. Remindin' Rick how drunk he was.

     Rick huffed out a laugh. Daryl Dixon wettin' his whistle? Fuck yeah he wanted that. Those lips on his. But, not when Daryl don't know his own mind. "Could use a drink," he took the bottle. Jesus, Daryl's eyes were so blue starin' inta Rick's. So close. Their lips, almost touchin'.

     Daryl slumped inta Rick. Hiccuped loudly in his ear. "I ever tell ya you's pretty?"

     Rick blushed. But, Hershel and Carol ain't heard. Or had the decency ta pretend not to. "Twice already," he soothed. Though, he'd never tire of hearin' it from Daryl.

     Daryl tried ta whisper. "Wanna hear it again?" He were a flirty little shit after a few belts of whiskey.

     "Always," Rick had to admit. If he were bein' honest. "You wanna hear somethin', too?"

     Daryl nodded inta Rick's shoulder. Hiccuped again. But, he was silent. And his head got heavy where it rested on Rick.

     Rick checked Hershel and Carol were still distracted. "I think you are the most beautiful person I've ever met, Daryl Dixon," Rick whispered. And he wasn't sure if it was the whiskey, the adrenaline or the fact that he was pretty sure Daryl'd completely passed out that gave him the freedom to confess it. "And I think I'm in love with you," he pressed the words ta Daryl's hair like kisses. Okay, maybe there really were kisses. But, what the fuck? Daryl was out cold. And everyone else was busy stitching him up.

     "Psh," Daryl drooled down Rick's neck. "Ya fuckin' know ya are." And with that he finally and truly passed out.

     And Rick might have had a minor heart attack. But, would Daryl even remember once the whiskey wore off? Probably hard to forget what he apparently already knew. Cocky bastard. But, Daryl was right. Rick did know he was in love with Daryl. Knew it for a long time. Just never thought he'd admit it to Daryl on the same day he'd admitted it to himself. At least he had planted a seed. A seed far more important than any of his precious peas.


End file.
